Hello, travel agent? I’d like a round-trip ticket to Yas Island. No, this isn’t a prank call. Yas is a $40 billion tourist destination constructed atop a manmade island in Abu Dhabi, and I would like to vacation there immediately—so may I please have one round-trip ticket to Yas Island as well as a week of lodging at its most iconic hotel? What do you mean you’re not a travel agent? No, I’m not fucking with you. No one put me up to this, ma’am! Who’s That Motherfucker Jack and why do you think we’re friends? Hello? Travel agent? Looks like I’m going to have to plan a vacation to Yas Island, the destination of my dreams, all myself.

Yas Island opened in 2010, and though I remember reading about it at the time, the name didn’t stick. The man-made island part did. The price tag did. But the name was lost to me. This was, of course, before “yass” had gone mainstream. Before teens screamed it at Lady Gaga, and Ilana taught it to a child, and Hillary Clinton used it as a campaign slogan.

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But “yas” is everywhere now, thank god, and after my mouse pointer tripped on a story about Andrea Bocelli and fell down a hill of related links that ultimately led me to Yas Island (Bocelli will be performing there soon), I unceremoniously dumped out my bucket list, set the shards of past dreams on fire, and dropped in just one item.

Kweens, all I wanna do is have some fun...on Yas Island.

Yas, shopping!

Unfortunately, Yas Island isn’t cheap. If I were to drop everything and revel there for a week—let’s say for a Jezebel feature on how much fun Yas Island is—I’d be looking at spending a minimum of $3000, which isn’t something that makes me say, “Yas kween!” A round-trip flight leaving tomorrow, nonstop between JFK and Abu Dhabi International, would be $1400. And because I’m not about to fly to the other side of the world and stay in a Radisson, especially if Kontent Kween Emma Carmichael allows me to expense this entire thing, I’d stay in the Yas Viceroy—a honeycomb rave of a building in the center of the island that’s surrounded by an F1 track. Six nights (breakfast included!) and poof, there goes another $1600.

As for other expenditures:

I don’t have much of a clue what F1 racing is, but it sounds loud, exciting, and cool, so I want to go. A ticket is $476. If I go twice, let’s call it an even grand.

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I would like to ride on the world’s fastest rollercoaster, the Formula Rossa, because I require my fear of death to be tested on screeching theme park rides at least once a year. Tickets to the theme park in which it’s located are $68. Because I hate lines, I will require “priority seating,” so there goes $136. I will want to do this nearly every day, so let’s make it $680.

YasIsland.ae is currently promoting a package called LEARN GOLF IN A WEEK. I do not love golf, but that might be because I’ve never learned to play in a week on mirage that has been willed into existence by the wallets of the elite. LEARNING GOLF IN A WEEK on a course built atop a manmade island in the middle of the desert probably makes Mother Earth and all her nonrenewable resources weep—and I will feel bad about this one—but you know what? The earth is doomed whether I learn golf in a week or not. That’ll be $243.

Because learning golf in a week is exhausting, I will want to relax at Yas Waterworld after every lesson. Five all-day passes will set me back $625.

Yas, Kevin Costner movies!

Oh wait, I’ve gotta eat more than just breakfast! It ain’t cheap to ship in fresh everything for the hungry stomachs of rich people, so let’s just assume I’m spending a solid two Benjis a day. That makes $1400, my gluttonous kweens!

Add in tips for the hotel employees, transportation to and from the airport, no fewer than 10 pieces of clothing that say “YAS” somewhere on them, and souvenir photographs from every possible kiosk that asks if I’d like a souvenir photograph and that makes my grand total:

$7424

If you would to help convince my editors to send me to Yas Island for a feature, please email your pleas to Emma@Jezebel.com and Jia@Jezebel.com, subject line: SEND BOBBY TO YAS, KWEENS!